Growing Into His Magnificence
by leezh
Summary: The oldest of the Pevensie siblings who soon would be crowned by no other than the Lion Aslan himself was struggling with a predicament within which he shared with Avra, the supposedly cherry dryad, who at the movie trailer danced with the High King...


Hi! This is a standalone that I actually wrote months ago but always slipped my mind to be posted. It's simply my interpretation of the missing scenes at the movie. You know, at the trailer there's a blonde dryad who dances with Peter? Yah, it's inspired by that… I wrote this before I read the draft of the movie script, and originally wrote Avra as a willow nymph. But since the draft states that she's (whoever her name is) actually a cherry one, I made some adjustments…

As always, this one is beta-ed by Mira (mis.mira). Thank you!

This one goes to all of you who read my other fic 'Entangled'. Love you all, and I hope you can enjoy this.

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**Growing Into His Magnificence**

Peter looked out of his chamber window.

The glorious Narnian morning greeted him from every direction. The sun was showing off its grandness as it radiated warmth into the soon-to-be High King's chamber, while its light made the Great River sparkle. The trees were clearly enjoying the end of the endless winter as they brushed branches against each other, adding more sounds to the music of nature that had been created by the wild little birds. To complete the liveliness of the day were the Narnians here and there, and they could not have been moving more animatedly if they tried.

Who could mistake the view that was spread out in front of him as anything but beautiful?

However, as the warm, gentle wind of the West blew his hair off his forehead, the oldest of the Pevensie siblings (who soon would be crowned by no other than _the Lion;_ Aslan himself) was struggling with a predicament within.

Unconsciously, he ran his left hand up his right arm, where the White Witch's blade had struck him during the battle. He could almost feel the blood all over again. There, in the farthest recesses of his mind-

"Your Majesty?"

It was still disturbing.

"Your Majesty High King Peter?"

Peter started. Not by the title (for his thoughts had drifted much too far to catch what the voice had actually said) but the urgency of the tone which had drawn him out of his ruminations.

He turned to see a dryad standing there, holding a roll of bandages.

It all started to come back. He remembered the long blond-haired dryad as Avra (that was her name), who had entered his tent after the battle. He had refused to take Lucy's cordial – after all, it was a mere scratch when compared with the others' wounds. She told him that she was a cherry nymph, whose ancestors' had attended to the Narnian royal family whenever they had been wounded, and therefore she would do the same for him.

She had been treating his wounds ever since, becoming a regular visitor to his chambers, changing his bandages every other day.

Peter could not remember what made him let Avra to do so. He was certainly still in denial over the whole 'high-king' issue, and the thought of strangers taking care of him was something he saw as inappropriate and uncalled-for.

Nevertheless, he assumed he was a man after all, because somewhere between the healing camp and that particular day of his coronation, his mortal pains eventually defeated his rational thoughts, and he agreed to her assisting him.

"Does it still hurt, My Lord?"

Peter winced, removing his hand from his wound instantly. "No, I'm fine."

He stole a glance at Avra's face and found that she was not convinced. Perhaps he was too quick in answer, Peter guesses, not believing that he had actually made the same mistake twice.

He was not used to being attended to. He was the oldest sibling, after all, and he was supposed to be the one in charge. He remembered once saying to Avra that he thought his wound had improved and he could and would take care of it all by his own, mainly because, well, for her (or anybody) to make such a great deal about it made him ill at ease, but Avra would hear none of it. She had just looked at him as she was doing now, and somehow Peter knew. She could actually sense him not being completely honest with her.

Or was she only capable of noticing his revealing weariness?

Peter's head started throbbing at the mere thought of that.

"You are worried about your coronation, I suppose, My Lord?"

_How did-_

Peter's amazement was illustrated quite comprehensible as Avra took a position beside him on the balcony with a slight furtive smile on her face. Peter was a bit taken aback: it was something that she had never done before; the dryad had always kept her distance.

Peter figured maybe that her previous demeanor was because of the particularly heavy weight that would soon be placed on his shoulders when he was made High King. He was receiving that kind of treatment a lot recently: even Mr. Tumnus started addressing him as "Sire", and Mr. and Mrs. Beaver were more than happy to call him "High King Peter". He had objected to the heading strongly, but they acted like they had turned deaf all of a sudden, and though it had lasted a few days, Peter still could not shake the sense of condemnation it gave him.

He just wanted to be treated like a regular person. He just wanted enjoy their friendliness without their high expectations (which he could see in their eyes), for their faith in him was starting to gnaw at him, and-

"Are you afraid, Your Majesty?"

Peter turned. Avra's eyes were looking straight into his: they were hazel green and deep, very deep, and at the time, they surprisingly looked very comfortable and reliable.

He fixed his gaze with hers; feeling his words frozen on the tip of his tongue.

"Is all this actually happening?"

It was true. Who was he, Peter thought, that he deserved to be king? He was only a boy from Finchley. He had merely been dragged into Narnia by his youngest sister Lucy, and stayed on only because he had to rescue Edmund. He agreed to fulfill half of the Narnians' expectations to lead them into the battle of Beruna because he was drawn by Aslan's reassurance, because he was thirsty to prove himself as a knight. Who was he then, that he deserved to be king?

A High King?

He believed in Aslan. Every time he looked at the mighty lion, he found himself braver and stronger. He found himself pushing his consciousness one step closer to the belief that he could be a magnificent ruler. He found himself believing that he was, indeed, the rightful High King.

Yet, amid all those things, Peter knew that his hands got clammy every time he thought about it. His hands got cold, and there was prickling sensation in his stomach when he recalled the time General Orieus had told him that everything was up to him as he was the High King. And that the Centaur would follow him to whatever end.

He was still fourteen! How was he supposed to know how to lead a bunch of noble warriors when he still was not yet a man himself?

Peter could not deny that he was more than afraid at the prospect.

"What I fear-"

"Fear, is not a reason," Avra said, gently as Peter's eyes locked on hers. "I beg Your Majesty's pardon for my boldness, but I have yet to hear of a Narnian King without fears. Narnia needs not a fearless leader."

Peter remained silent.

"What Narnia needs is a King who dares to overcome his fears. Who dares to overcome himself- for her."

She put her hand on top of his, encouraging him. "And I personally think that you would make a very magnificent High King indeed, My Lord."

Still, Peter was silent, but he did not draw his hand back. He merely looked at it for quite some time, before raising his eyes to Avra's once again-

And smiled.

The eruption of euphoria in Cair Paravel's Great Hall was something that could be entirely understandable. Narnia was rejoicing. The White Witch had fallen, along with her one-hundred-year endless winter. The Land of Talking Beasts had been awakened by spring, by the arrival of Aslan, and by the prophecy that had indeed come true.

Two sons of Adams and two daughters of Eve had come, and they were standing at the entrance of the Great Hall with Aslan in front of them now. They had been dressed in Narnia best and most regal outfits, standing quite nervously but with a touch of grandeur about them.

And, for Peter, with content smile on his face.

Seeing this, Avra could not repress her own smile. She was standing with her fellow cherry dryads and other Narnians, watching as Aslan led the Pevensie siblings to their four thrones. There, Mr. Tumnus the Faun awaited, to crown them one by one, each one of them kneeling down then rising up with glistening garland of gold and silver on their heads. She witnessed as Aslan gave the beauties of Narnia to the four monarchs. (To the glistening eastern sea he gave Queen Lucy the Valiant, the great western woods King Edmund the Just, the radiant southern sun Queen Susan the Gentle, and finally to the clear northern skies, High King Peter the Magnificent). Yet, she was unable to take her sight off the High King. Peter was laughing along with his siblings, obviously basking in the glory of the day, and Avra remembered feeling pleased by it.

"Look at you now," Avra thought, addressing said thoughts to Peter, feeling warm. "You indeed look magnificent."

However, as she turned to see the other nymphs retreating to the side of the hall, she realized that perhaps it was the end of her correlation with the High King. Soon, people considerably wiser than her would surround him as his advisors, and he would be too preoccupied by a great deal of things, which would hardly leave him time to think about anything else.

He would slowly grow into his magnificence.

Avra took her place beside her siblings. They watched as Queen Lucy the Valiant opened the dance with Mr. Tumnus, ahead of her brother the High King, who was supposed to do so. However, Lucy was so excited that she gave proper decorum no thought as she dragged the faun to the dance floor and Peter did not seem to mind as he turned to laugh with Susan and Edmund, watching their youngest sister. Soon, his knights stepped into the dance floor themselves, bringing the Great Hall to life with Narnian dancing songs and a buzz of excitement.

Avra glimpsed Queen Susan attempting a dance with a fox before she nudged her sister, suggesting that they find a place to sit. She saw her fellow dryads waving at them from a table, welcoming them to join them but as she moved towards them-

"My Lady?"

Avra turned in bewilderment. It was Peter, and seeing him right then in close proximity to her, she suddenly did not quite know what to think.

It was all happening so fast.

The newly crowned High King was simply standing there with a smile on his face, offering his hand, and it was obvious what he wanted.

"May I have the honor of a dance with you?"

And a smile shone on Avra's face.

**The End.**


End file.
